The Cowboy's Gift-Wrapped Bride

By Victoria Pade

Texas cowboy Matt McDermott was craving his first white Christmas on his family's Wyoming ranch. But a blizzard delivered more than Matt bargained for; a petite, pretty motorist stuck in a snow bank, with a bump on her head and her memory gone!

The woman melted Matt's heart like a puppy at a pound. But hadn't Matt learned that loving someone with secrets was just plain dangerous? Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he gift–wrapped his heart and gave it away, might this beautiful mystery woman become his bride?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460822999

Victoria Pade

Victoria Pade is a USA Today bestselling author of multiple romance novels. She has two daughters and is a native of Colorado, where she lives and writes. A devoted chocolate-lover, she's in search of the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe. Readers can find information about her latest and upcoming releases by logging on to www.vikkipade.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Matt McDermot didn’t need the voice coming from his truck radio to tell him he was in one of the worst blizzards Wyoming had ever suffered. He could see it for himself, right out his windshield. It was about all he could see as snow blew straight at him and left his visibility at maybe ten feet.

He was new to Wyoming. New to weather like this. He’d driven through Texas ice storms during his years growing up and living there with his family but even that hadn’t been as bad.

Welcome to Wyoming, he thought, wondering if it had been such a good idea to move to the small town of Elk Creek after all.

Nah, on second thought he didn’t really believe the move had been a bad idea. Not when all three of his brothers and his sister, too, were there. Not when it gave him a chance to get to know the grandfather he’d only met a few years ago.

And not when it gave him a chance to get far, far away from Sarah and the havoc she’d wreaked on his life.

Besides, he liked Elk Creek and up to now the change of seasons had been pretty pleasant. What was one bout of bad weather? Next time he’d just take the predictions more seriously than he had today.

But for now, here he was, only a few miles from Elk Creek and home, and he’d driven right into the worst of the storm.

If he hadn’t stopped to put the chains on his tires he wouldn’t be moving at all. And he had to keep moving, he knew, or risk not getting through.

The weatherman came on the radio again, announcing that this storm could dump a full thirty-six inches of the white stuff before the next day and another foot to two feet by the morning after that.

No doubt about it, they’d be having a white Christmas this year, the radio announcer promised, because even when the snow stopped, frigid temperatures were headed to the area for the week until the holiday. Which meant Cheyenne and its outlying suburbs and farmland would be in the deep freeze and wouldn’t see much melting to speak of.

Matt didn’t mind that part of things. He was looking forward to his first white Christmas. He just hoped he got back to the ranch in one piece to enjoy it.

The news report turned into a traffic update then, listing road closures due to high winds and drifting snow.

The highway Matt was driving wasn’t on the list but probably only because it was an isolated country road without enough usage to get it mentioned on the radio.

Or maybe it’s officially closed and I just don’t know it, he said to himself, realizing that his truck was the only vehicle on it.

But no sooner had he thought that than he spotted the weak flashing of red lights up ahead. They looked as if they might belong to another car but they seemed to be at an odd angle so he didn’t veer toward them. Instead he concentrated on staying centered between the tall poles of the streetlights on either side of the highway—his only way of judging where the road was.

It was a good thing he didn’t let the flashing lights throw him off course because as he neared them he saw that they were indeed coming from another vehicle—a small beige sedan that had gone into a ditch off the side of the road, nose-first in a deep drift.

Apparently the car had been there awhile because the battery was dying, the rear lights dimming even as Matt approached.

It was dangerous for him to stop and he knew it. A slow, steady progression was his best hope of getting through this storm. If his truck stalled in the cold or just got stuck in the snow that could drift around it within minutes, he would be stranded.

But what if the other car’s driver or passengers were still in it?

It was possible they’d already been picked up by another passerby and had left the lights flashing to warn any on-coming vehicle, but the odds of that didn’t seem good.

And Matt knew he couldn’t drive by without checking for people who might be still inside and hurt from that deep dive into the ditch that left the car’s rear end at a sharp upward pitch.

So he carefully came to a stop, turning on his own hazard lights and hoping they were bright enough to warn anyone else who might come up from behind him—as unlikely as it was that anyone else was crazy enough to be out in this mess.

He left his engine idling and reached across to the glove box, popping it open and retrieving a flashlight from inside.

It was only midafternoon but the clouds were so dense and the snow so thick—not to mention that it was piled up almost completely over the other car—that he thought he might need some extra light to see inside the vehicle.

He set the flashlight in his lap, flipped up the fleece collar of his suede shearling coat and pulled down on the brim of his Stetson to keep it securely on his head. Then he opened the door and hopped out of the truck into wind so fierce it had turned the snowflakes into shards of glass against his face.

Luckily he knew exactly where his shovel was—just behind the truck’s cab—so he reached blindly for it with one gloved hand, pulling the tool out from beneath its wintry blanket.

Carrying the shovel and flashlight, Matt plowed through snow that was nearly knee-deep in some places, making his way as fast as he could to the side of the road.

The wind was a howl that obliterated any other sounds, but he was reasonably sure no one was calling for help from within the car. He had to dig to get to the driver’s side door, then he managed to break its frozen seal and pull it open to shine the flashlight into the interior.

It was a good thing he’d taken the trouble.

Inside the car was a woman hunched over the steering wheel, her head bloody against the windshield.

She didn’t move and Matt had a moment’s sick feeling that he was too late.

He yanked off one glove and pressed two fingers to her neck, just under her jawbone.

There was still some warmth and softness to her skin, telling him right off the bat that she was alive, and when he found her pulse, he had it confirmed.

But she was hurt. There was no doubt about that. Badly enough to be unconscious.

He knew it wasn’t good to move her but what choice did he have? Even if this had been a sunny day in May he’d have had to call for a helicopter rescue because they were too far from the nearest hospital for an ambulance to reach them with any speed. In this weather neither a helicopter nor an ambulance could risk it, so he was the only help this woman was going to get.

And the longer he spent pondering it, the more danger they were both in.

So he switched off the flashlight and slid it into his coat pocket, jammed the shovel into the snow like a stake claiming land and replaced his glove. Then he eased the woman out of the car and into his arms as cautiously as he could, gently hoisting her up against his chest like a fragile sack of grain.

She wasn’t much bigger than a minute. He’d carried calves and foals that weighed more. But since she was still unconscious, she was dead weight.

Her head fell limply to his shoulder and her right arm swung outward like a loose gate. He kept his head hunched over her to provide as much protection as he could from the elements he knew were biting through the simple wool coat she had on. She wore no gloves to cover her hands or hat to conceal the long fall of curly burnished red hair.

She moaned when he lifted her into the passenger side of his truck, but she still didn’t regain consciousness.

You’ll be okay. I’ll get you to a doctor, he told her anyway, thinking maybe the reassurance would penetrate somehow. Then he reached behind the seat for the emergency blanket he kept there and covered her with it, cranking up the heat before he closed the door and went back to her car.

A quick scan of the inside of the topsy-turvy sedan showed him a black leather purse and a single suitcase on the rear floor.

There was no telling when anyone would be able to get out here again and he knew she was likely to need her things so he grabbed the purse and the suitcase to take along, too. Then he retrieved his shovel, closed the door and finally high-stepped his way to his truck once more, hoping he could make good time getting his unplanned passenger to help.

The first thing she was aware of was an unrelenting headache that started in her temple and wrapped around the side of her head like a vise.

The second thing she realized was that she was very, very cold even though it felt as if there were heavy blankets covering her. So cold her fingers and toes ached almost as bad as her head did.

She could hear the sound of voices and a telephone ringing, but it was all from a distance. Muted. She couldn’t make out any of what the voices were saying.

She opened her eyes into slits that let in stabbing white light. But she couldn’t bear the bright fluorescent glare and had to scrunch them closed again in a hurry.

That was when a deep male voice said, Are you finally going to join us?

The voice wasn’t familiar. Not at all. But it was smooth and full-bodied and confident, and it reminded her of dark molasses.

Then she heard a few footsteps, a door opening and the same voice said, I think she’s coming to, before the click of boot heels brought the man to stand near her again.

Painful or not, she decided she didn’t have any choice but to open her eyes again. By very, very slow increments, allowing in only as much of the light as she could endure and adjusting to it before raising her lids more, until she finally had them completely open.

She found herself looking up into a face of chiseled planes and rawboned, ruggedly masculine beauty.

Don’t be afraid, Jenn, the man said. You’re okay. You were in a car accident but you’re safe now.

Jenn? Had he called her Jenn? The name didn’t ring a bell.

Jenn? she repeated.

We had to get into your purse and look at your driver’s license to find out who you are. I’m sorry for poking into your things, but—

Jenn, she said again, alarm building in her voice to match what was building inside her as it began to sink in that the name didn’t mean anything to her.

Jenn Johnson—it’s on your driver’s license. Along with your picture.

You think that’s me? Jenn Johnson?

That’s what we’ve pieced together. Isn’t it right?

Is it? she said with growing agitation. I don’t know.

You don’t know?

Her heart was racing now. She could hear the rush of blood through her veins and it crossed her mind that maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was having a very vivid nightmare. A very vivid nightmare in which she’d somehow forgotten who she was.

But her head hurt too much for this to just be a dream.

I don’t know if that’s the right name or not. I don’t know that name at all. I don’t know if it’s mine, she said, sounding on the verge of hysteria.

You don’t know who you are? he asked as if he doubted his own comprehension of what she was saying.

I really don’t know! she said, the full force of her own panic echoing in her voice.

He must have heard it, because he said, Okay, okay. Don’t get riled up. Your driver’s license says you’re Jenn Johnson, he said soothingly. Your car went off the road in a snowstorm. I found you inside, slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious and bleeding from the head. I brought you here—you’re in a doctor’s office. No one recognized you from around these parts so we looked in your purse for identification and that’s what we came up with—a Colorado driver’s license with your picture on it that says you’re Jenn Johnson. He explained everything in such detail, no doubt hoping it would make her recall something.

But it didn’t. And she felt a fear so intense it was palpable.

She tried to sit up then to combat her own sense of extreme vulnerability.

But when she did, her head started to spin and she thought she’d pass out.

The man seemed in tune with what was going on with her because he stepped even closer to the examining table and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. I think you’d better stay lying back until my brother gets a look at you. He’s the doctor. We’re in his office.

Something popped into her head then, as she looked at the man claiming to be her rescuer. But it didn’t have anything to do with her. It was some kind of odd flash that instead made her think she knew him. Although that didn’t make sense.

Are you Matt McDermot? she asked tentatively.

He looked almost as confused as she felt. That’s me, he confirmed.

And we are in a place called Elk Creek? In Wyoming?

We are, he said.

Did you just move here? From Texas?

His lips stretched into a smile as his full eyebrows creased over dark green eyes the color of fir trees. Right, he said, clearly surprised and somewhat confused.

Another of those strange flashes hit her, causing her to recall him saying his brother was the doctor here.

Bax McDermot—is that your brother?

Did I hear someone say my name?

The voice coming from another man suddenly standing in the doorway startled her so much she jolted as if she’d been hit. But one look at him and Jenn knew he was Matt’s older brother.

He stepped into the room then with a warm, friendly smile on a face that bore a striking resemblance to Matt’s.

And behind Bax McDermot came an attractive auburn-haired woman with topaz-colored eyes.

Carly Winters, Jenn said as much to herself as to everyone else.

You’re close. Carly McDermot, the other woman amended.

Of course, Jenn nearly whispered. You just married the doctor.

The two new arrivals to the room both smiled but they looked as if they were waiting for the punch line to a joke.

The trouble was, the joke was on Jenn and it wasn’t a very nice one. Her mouth went dry and her heart started to pound all over again in a fresh wave of alarm at the thought that she still couldn’t tell them anything about herself.

Uh, we have a bit of a hat trick going on here, Matt McDermot offered then, his expression once more showing his own confusion. Our girl seems to know everyone but herself.

The intensely attractive cowboy went on to explain what had transpired since Jenn had regained consciousness. All the while Jenn let herself focus on him as if he were her anchor.

He was a big man with wide, straight shoulders and a broad chest that narrowed to a sharply V’d waist. His hips didn’t have an ounce of spare flesh—or any room for more—in the tight jeans he wore along with the plaid flannel shirt that stretched across the muscles of his upper body.

And as for his face…well, it was about the best face she’d ever seen on a man. At least as far as she knew. With a high forehead and a long, thin, slightly pointed nose; straight, not-too-thin, not-too-full lips; a strong, square jawline; and a chin with a slight dent in the center of it.

He had great hair, too—thick, coarse and shiny golden-brown in color. He wore it short around the sides and a little spiky on top.

And there were also the eyes she’d noticed before. Slightly soulful, kind and amused at once, and as dark a green as a dense mountain forest.

When Matt McDermot had finished updating his brother, the doctor switched into a more businesslike mode, drawing Jenn’s attention with questions aimed directly at her.

You can’t tell us anything about yourself? Where you live? If you were on your way to Elk Creek or would have just passed through?

Jenn again tried to reclaim the information from the storehouse of her brain as Bax McDermot shined a light in her eyes and took a closer look into them. But it was as if that part of her mind was locked behind a steel door to which she didn’t have the key.

I know I should know and somewhere I do, but I can’t get hold of it, she confessed with a hearty portion of frustration in her tone.

Bax McDermot shined the light higher up, into the hair he parted with his fingers, looking at about the spot from which her headache seemed to originate.

How about numbers? Can you remember your phone number or your address?

Once more Jenn tried. And failed. And felt another surge of panic at the further evidence that she didn’t know